


No Shelter Here Anymore

by thinice77



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-14
Updated: 2012-08-14
Packaged: 2017-11-12 04:03:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,497
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/486481
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thinice77/pseuds/thinice77
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Part 2 of a hurt comfort fic in which Max had a bad encounter with his new Captain Chris Pronger. He runs to Marc-Andre for comfort, but gets a less than warm reception.<br/>Warning: sad and dark.....</p>
            </blockquote>





	No Shelter Here Anymore

**Author's Note:**

> I make no $$ from this, I own no one, it's a work of fiction

Marc stubbed his toe on the way to answer the frantic pounding on his front door.   
At 2 am.   
Swearing in both French and English, he opened the door, without asking who it was in his half awake state of mind.

"F-Flower! Mon Dieu you're up!!" Max sobbed as he rushed as his former team mate, arms wrapping around the small goalie frantically.

"Fucksake Max, what's---why you here at 2 am, and what the hell is wrong?" Marc back peddled into his apartment, trying to make sense of Max's spontaneous visit. "Calm down, sit." He pushed the former Pen down on to a couch and backed away, turning on a lamp before he hurt himself on any more furniture.  
Max looked like a wreck, eyes bugging out, lower lip being chewed to a swollen pulp. He looked up regarding Flower's ever calm face and burst out in tears babbling about what happened in French.  
Marc tried to piece together what happened, leading up to why he was here, in between the sobs and many 'sorry's', and hyperventilating. He grabbed a box of tissues and handed them off to his catatonic friend who with in moments used up ever single one of them.   
"L-look, I know I should have called, it's not a good time for you, and you probably don't care about why this happened, that I just up and left the Pens for more money and-and a better place on the ice---I don't deserve to have a friend like you F-Flower......" Max blew his nose loudly, letting the tissue drop to the carpet with the others.   
Marc's face was twisted with disbelief as he digested his friend's tale of woe.   
"So he raped your mouth, and desecrated your old Pens hat that I signed?"   
Max just nodded, frowning. Reaching behind his back he pulled forth said Championship hat and held it out to his friend, pulling the most pitiful face Marc had ever seen.

Marc grimaced at the scene, not moving to touch the hat. He wanted to beat Pronger with his goalie stick till it broke on the man's body. But at the same time, he felt empty about the whole thing. 

"Max, what do you want from me?" Marc dead-paned, feeling like he was trapped in the middle of some tug of war.

Max's face twisted in shock. "I want you to hold me. To make me feel better!" He pleaded as he shook the hat at his former team mate as if to make him change his mind.   
"I feel bad that this happened to you Maxime, but we have to move on. You should not have worn that hat at all in the Flyer's locker room. I can get you a new hat and sign it for you?" He shrugged in suggestion at the idea, trying to appear calm yet painfully neutral.

"Fuck Flower, you just goin' to be like.....this?! You cold bastard!" Max screamed in hurt, lunging at his friend, tackling the goalie to the carpet and pinning him down.

"Fucking get off me Maxime!! There is nothing I can do to help you, don't you understand?!" Marc snarled up at his captor. "You brought this on yourself. By all rights you should be calling upon your new team mates for comfort and help. What the fuck do you think I can do about this?" He hoped what he had said sunk into Max's brain, but from the 'oh-no-you-didn't-just-go-there' face Max pulled, along with the hardness he felt pressing into his groin, that hope vanished. Just a half hour ago he had been sleeping, minding his own business, and now his friend and former team mate was asking the impossible from him in a deranged manner.

"How dare you Maxime." Marc hissed angrily, body tense as a coil.   
Max sniffled, rolling his hips down into Flower, "I-I thought you could help me forget for a while. Make me feel better." He dipped his head down to nuzzled at the smooth pale skin of Marc's neck, inhaling his scent with a desperate moan. He licked his lips and ignoring Flower's protests, tried to kiss him.

"Oh no you don't!!!! Fucking stop it Max!!" Marc flashed his teeth in warning to bite, glaring daggers up at his now estranged friend. "This is not my problem Max, you have new team-mates now!!" He flailed under the solid body of the blue liner who in return shook him like a rag-doll into submission.   
Both of them covered in sweat from the struggling, Max not budging from his position atop his friend. Marc went limp under Max, he looked away from the mess of a man atop him.

"Fuck you Max. Take what you want, since it seems that is what you are going to do anyways, and get the fuck out. I owe you nothing." He spat the last bit out with pure contempt.

There was a whimper from above the prone goalie as Max released his pained wrists and pull his boxers down. Marc didn't move a muscle. He knew he was out matched, but he certainly didn't have to offer anything more than what was being taken from him. 

"Oh Flower....." Max started, shaking hands touching parts of his friend he thought he'd never get to touch again. 

"Don't 'oh Flower' me Maxime Talbot, how fucking dare you." Marc's voice was dripping acid, refusing to look up at his friend, head turned to the side. Part of his heart ached from the tough love he was giving Max, but another part breaking for himself and all the 'what if's' that had germinated from Talbot's leaving the Pens.   
Leaving his team mates.  
Leaving his Flower.

Max withdrew on himself as he stripped down and grabbed a bottle of lotion he spied on the table next to them. 

Flower remained silent except for the unintentional gasps he emitted when Max inserted one, two then three fingers into his ass. So familiar was the way Max touched him, made him feel.   
But it was not the same. And ever would be again. Marc's heart ached as Max gathered him up in his trembling arms and pressed into his ass, pausing every few inches to whisper in French how sorry he was that things had turned out the way they did till he was hilted in the body under him.   
As Max moved in and out of Marc's body, he did so with much care and tenderness, as if it were their first time all over again. Max grasped Marc's now hard cock in one hand, stroking the same rhythm as he was fucking--slow and gently. 

"Maxime...non..." Marc choked his friends name brokenly as he involuntarily thrust against Max's palm, gasping for breath as his prostate was nudged at the same time.   
"Oui, s'il vous plait, Flower, come for me." The pathetic request ghosted over the goalie's ear, their thrusts becoming more punctuated, frantic.   
Squeezing his eyes shut, Marc wrapped his arms around Max's heaving body, and rode out his orgasm choking back his wild moans, turning them into unwilling whimpers of emptiness.

Max tore at Marc's back wit his blunt nails, drinking in the forgotten feeling of his Flower convulsing in pleasure around him, his heart pounded as he came inside of his former team mate for what was possibly the last time.   
They collapsed onto the carpet, Marc promptly rolling away from Max and grabbing a throw blanket from the back of the couch, wrapped himself up in it. He glowered at Max, who was sitting up with the most lost look on his face, mouth open to say something. 

"Non, non, Maxime, fucking get dressed and leave here now. You got what you wanted, and I hope it makes you feel better for what it's worth. I loved you, but now you went and signed it all away. Money be damned." Marc's voice was heavy with tears, he continued despite his eyes threatening to spill over. "The next time I see you, will be on the ice. And I WILL be denying you your goal. Over and over. Merde, do you ever take in consideration with your actions how you have made others feel? I hope what Pronger did makes you realize with more clarity than what you did! Just--go, now!!" The small French goalie looked even smaller huddled in his throw blanket, eyes round and owl-like, but none the less full of rage as he pointed with a trembling finger at his front door. 

Max sighed in some what satisfied defeat, jumping as Marc's bedroom door slammed shut and locked. He dressed slowly and picked up the tattered Pens hat, placing it on the coffee table, turned and left Flower's apartment, softly closing the door, and sulking off to his car and the long drive back cross-state.

Neither of them slept the rest of that night. It would be a long game the next night. Painfully long.


End file.
